


oh god I wanna feel again

by Siobunny



Category: Banana Bus Squad, The Misfits (Podcast)
Genre: Anxiety, Burnt out, COD Warzone, Emotional Hurt, For the uninformed smii7y's real name is jaren, Gen, Me projecting?, Mental Health Issues TM, Panic Attacks, Sad, Warzone, Youtuber - Freeform, exhausted, fear of failure, i guess we'll never know, jk we know, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 04:01:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29895318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siobunny/pseuds/Siobunny
Summary: SMii7Y is tired. Very, very tired.
Kudos: 5





	oh god I wanna feel again

**Author's Note:**

> YEET :D
> 
> I am sad and having a very hard time, and so here I am, projecting onto real people I look up to rather than fictional characters. is this better or worse? I have no fucking clue but here we are
> 
> I have binged smii7y's videos for the last week. I think he is my new comfort streamer :)
> 
> Also, title from Sleeping At Last's song Touch

SMii7Y closed the stream, ended the Discord call, and leaned back in his chair, scrubbing a hand over his face and up through his hair. His hand eventually found the back of his neck and gripped tightly, massaging the tense spot that had developed over the last three hours.

That last Warzone game had been rough. He had missed almost every single shot, something unbelievably rare from him, and his chat had not let him get away with it. His chat mods were very good, removing the constant hate and banning the unnecessary cruelty, but he couldn’t help feeling that he had let down his fans. Five thousand people had been watching him for entertainment, and while the banter between him, Grizzy, Puffer, and Matt had be top tier, that wasn’t enough. They wanted to see him “cracked,” absolutely destroying the competition.

And he hadn’t been.

Fitz had said it in the podcast; SMii7Y worked more than most of the crew did when it came to Youtube. He was very consistent, and always strived for quality over quantity, but was proud of his ability to manage both. Except lately he had been slacking, finding it harder to wake up in the morning, harder to get out of bed, harder to laugh at the jokes his friends constantly tossed around him, harder to be the guy that everyone watched and knew and loved. 

A pounding headache was starting to develop behind his eyes. “Fuck,” he breathed, rubbing his eyes. He heard Octavia whine from somewhere in the house, and knew he should probably let her out. But he felt heavy, stuck to the chair, too tired to stand and deal with that small thing.

He didn’t remember how he ended up on the floor, only that a while later he opened his eyes and he was staring up at the ceiling. He blinked in confusion, and then heard the sound of a Discord notification from the computer just out of sight, hidden by the edge of the desk. The straw that broke the camel’s back.

It took a few seconds for him to realize how quick his breathing had gotten, but as soon as he did it was all he could think about. It only sped up from there, and soon his head was spinning from the hyperventilating and the thoughts of _get up you dumb bitch_ and _you have things to do_ and _you are pathetic as hell_ and _Octavia needs out_ \--

He wanted to sleep. To hide under the covers and forget life had meaning. To simply bury his face in a pillow and stop existing for a month, maybe. That seemed like a good amount of time, life would carry on without him, his fans would leave, and he would be released from the pressure of being SMii7Y. He would no longer have to be funny, incredible at Warzone, good at editing. 

His nails dug into his palms and he curled in on himself, burying his face in the rug. _So tired…_

There was a whine from directly over his head, and then a cold nose in his face. He couldn’t help the tiny wheeze of a laugh that managed to force its way past his choked breathing, and looked up just enough to see her paws by his head. “I’m sorry, -tavia,” he rasped, and shoved his face back into the rug.

She whined again, and then padded away. _Even your dog thinks you’re pathetic, dumbass bi-_

A warm body lay against his back, and suddenly breathing was a bit easier. Octavia snuggled a bit closer, and he smiled as he started to relax, _just a bit._ His head spun just a bit slower and the room seemed to straighten. The thoughts of how much of a loser he was were a bit quieter, and suddenly he yawned. He was exhausted. What little energy he had had in reserve was now completely gone, drained from him by the panic attack. He was warm again, and could control his breathing. His eyes started to droop a little, and Octavia gave a huff like she was about to doze off.

So Jaren slept, curled on the floor, dog at his back, lungs and head aching but not unbearably. He could deal with everything in the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> was the name transition too jarring? PROBABLY
> 
> did we do it anyway? YOU BET YOUR ASS BABYYYYYY
> 
> I did that for the sole purpose of a person losing their identity in their work, and only discovering it through serious bouts of mental health issues (not me idk what you're talking about I am far too healthy for that :0 I am injured you would suggest such a thing)


End file.
